Chapter 32
TJ
Iwake up to the buzzing of my phone. I quickly pull it out of my pocket and decline the call from West, who’s probably wondering where I am. Luckily, it’s on vibrate, so it didn’t wake Cornelia, who’s lying fast asleep on me.
But I decide to wait ten more minutes. What’s the harm in that?
Besides, it gives me a moment to savour watching her sleep.
She looks so peaceful, so unbelievably beautiful—her hair covering a little part of her face, her pouty lips the perfect shade of pink, her relaxed breathing, her dainty hand, adorned with multiple rings, resting on my chest. Words fail me.
The only way I can even attempt to describe her is: if angels exist, they must look like her.
Ten minutes pass, much to my dismay, and I gently shake her. “Cor, Cornelia.”
She opens her eyes and slowly sits up. “We fell asleep,” she says sleepily, rubbing her eyes and smudging her makeup. “I didn’t even realise when I got tired.”
I did. It was right after we finished watching Clueless, and she put on The O.C. She was yawning a lot, and I knew it was a matter of time before she’d drift off.
“I should be heading home,” I tell her. I don’t want to go, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome either.
“Don’t be a nitwit; you drank almost as much as I did—you’ll stay here for the night,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
But I argue, “I don’t want to be a bother.”
“You’re not,” she replies, getting up from the sofa and picking up the snack wrappers. “Now, help tidy up this mess so we can head upstairs and sleep.” She yawns.
Between the two of us, we quickly tidy up the cinema room before heading for the stairs.
As we reach the first floor, I can’t help but glance down the hallway that leads to Cornelia’s mother’s room.
Cornelia does too. Chills run up my spine as we do.
I… I remember stumbling inside, carried by Victoria.
I think… I do. It’s hazy. I can’t… I don’t want to think about it.
My stomach twists, and my breathing accelerates.
I swallow hard, forcing everything that happened…
that night away, focusing on the moment.
We carry on up the stairs, making our way to the second floor, where Cornelia’s room and most of the other bedrooms are located.
We walk down the hallway, passing artwork and some childhood photos of hers along the wall.
We reach her bedroom door; she opens it, and we step inside.
I look around. It looks exactly like the last time I was here.
It reminds me of Blair Waldorf’s bedroom in Gossip Girl, though the blue here is lighter, almost grey.
And the room has touches that are unmistakably Cornelia—like disinfectant and wipes beside her bedside table, or the multiple displays showcasing her jewellery scattered around the room, doubling as decoration.
Without hesitation, Cornelia heads straight to her walk-in closet and grabs a pair of pyjamas.
“There’s still some of your stuff here, but if there aren’t any pyjamas, you know where I keep the spare ones for guests,” she tells me before heading into her bathroom.
I used to hate it, and I still do, that she has a drawer in her closet full of clean pyjamas in the size of everyone in The Heptad Society and a few other random sizes, in case someone needs to stay over.
In the five years we were together, the only person other than me who stayed over in her room was Annabelle, and one time Laurie.
I get why she has clothes for her, but for everyone else?
She insists on keeping pyjamas for everyone because, according to her, you never know.
And because she knows she has very specific rules when it comes to her bed and room—rules she expects everyone to follow, but she tries to make it easier for people to do so.
It kills me to think she might have actually had a use for Nate’s, but I know they slept together in Paris, not here, so at least I can be in Cornelia’s room without picturing them doing it here.
I walk over to her dresser and open the second drawer, the one that used to be mine.
It’s still pretty full with my things—one watch, multiple socks and boxers, a belt, three trousers, two jeans, several T-shirts, some hoodies, and two sets of pyjamas.
Though I can’t remember if they are clean or not, so I head into Cornelia’s closet, grab one of the pyjamas there, and return to the bedroom.
I think for a moment about whether I should take all my stuff home, but I don’t want to.
I like having things here, and the fact she hasn’t gotten rid of them is another thing that makes me feel like maybe there’s still some hope for us.
So, until she decides otherwise, my things will stay right where they are.
I begin to change into the pyjamas. First, I remove my trousers and put on the bottoms. Then, I take off my jacket and shirt, but before I can put on the T-shirt, Cornelia comes out of the bathroom. She’s still in the dress, but she’s no longer wearing any makeup.
She looks a little thrown at seeing me bare-chested, but quickly composes herself. It’s not like she’s looking at something she hasn’t seen before.
“Could you help me take it off?” Cornelia asks, pointing to the back of her dress. “Annabelle helped me get it on, and I tried to take it off myself, but it seems to be a two-person job.”
“Yes, no problem,” I say, and she turns around, pulling her hair over her left shoulder.
No joke—the dress is difficult to get off. First, there are buttons, then a zipper, and finally, a built-in corset. I quickly get off the first two, but the corset is trickier, and the jolt of electricity that shoots through me every time my fingers brush against Cornelia’s skin doesn’t help.
After far more time than it should take, I loosen the corset enough for her to slip out of the dress with ease.
I can’t help myself—once I’m done, I run my thumb gently along her spine, and she arches her back in response.
I knew she’d like it. I know how she responds to every stroke and touch. I’ve studied all her reactions.
How badly I want to do something more than just touch her back, but I can’t.
I lay my hand gently on her bare shoulder and give it a slight squeeze. “All done.”
Cornelia turns around. “Thank you,” she replies before abruptly heading back into the bathroom.
I put on the pyjama T-shirt and sit on the bed, waiting for her instructions on where I’ll be sleeping.
Thirty minutes later, after hearing the shower running and the soft hum of a hairdryer, Cornelia emerges wearing a set from Olivia von Halle’s collaboration with Jessica McCormack—the one with rubies and diamond buttons.
I know that because I bought it for her.
She looks so beautiful. It’s not one of her sexiest pyjamas, but it’s probably my favourite—it’s so her.
Cornelia walks over to the dresser, opens the jewellery box sitting on top, and begins removing all the pieces she’s wearing.
She replaces them with the jewellery she wears to sleep—most of it from Jessica McCormack—including simple bands, small hoop earrings, and a delicate necklace.
She always says that if she doesn’t have jewellery on at all times, she feels naked or as if something is missing.
I, on the other hand, can’t sleep with jewellery.
She once gave me one of those sleep-tracking fitness rings.
I woke up in the middle of the night, exasperated by it, took it off, and tossed it aside.
I continue sitting on her bed, watching her as she finishes changing jewellery and then goes around making sure every drawer in her room is properly closed. I want to stay here all night watching her, but then she lets out a huge yawn.
“What guest room should I head to?” I ask her, trying to mask the reluctance in my voice. I don’t want to go, but she looks like she’s about to fall asleep any second.
She turns around, biting her lip as she considers. “You can sleep here… if you don’t mind. It’s that Aunt Miranda and Uncle Roland are using two of the three guest rooms, but I’m not sure which one they’re in. But if you do mind, I could quietly check which room is em—”
“I don’t mind,” I cut her off, perhaps a bit too quickly.
I’m stunned. She’s actually suggesting we sleep in the same bed. It’s her birthday, but it feels like I’m the one who blew out the candles and got my wish.
Cornelia continues her bedtime routine while I head to the bathroom.
“There’s a new toothbrush on the counter for you,” she calls out.
I use the loo, wash my hands, and brush my teeth.
I step out of the bathroom and spot Beardy propped up on the bed.
Beardy is Cornelia’s stuffed bear, one she’s had since birth and hardly ever sleeps without.
Though it’s not made for that, it’s a Steiff Diamond Eyes Bear, a collector’s item, but she doesn’t care.
During the day, she keeps it hidden beneath her pillows.
I got used to the fact that sharing a bed with Cornelia came with the package deal of sharing it with a stuffed animal.
Hell, if it means I get to sleep in a bed with Cornelia, I wouldn’t mind sharing it with an actual bear.
The room is almost completely dark, except for a candle flickering in the corner of her dresser, which Cornelia likes to leave lit all night, and the lamp on the left nightstand.
I find Cornelia finishing cleaning her phone with the wipes beside her bed, then placing it on the nightstand, which is one of the last steps in her express bedtime routine. She heads to the bathroom to wash her hands, and I take off my shoes.
She finishes washing up and climbs into bed.
I head to the bathroom to clean my hands as well, leaving the door open so she can see.
Once I’m done, I close the door and join her in bed.
She’s on the left side, and I’m on the right, with Beardy in the middle but tucked under the covers—just like old times.
“Do you mind if I take my T-shirt off?” I ask her.
She’s cold most of the time but tends to grin and bear it for the sake of fashion. But at night, she likes to sleep with the heating turned up, as though she’s being slowly cooked. I don’t. The way we used to manage was that she always chose the room temperature, and I took off clothes accordingly.
“It’s fine,” she responds.
I take off the T-shirt and cover myself with the sheets.
Cornelia turns the light off and on nine times before finally leaving it off. I smile, remembering what she once told me about that. I just hope I’m still her third. She sprays some disinfectant into her hands, and we both lay our heads on the pillows, facing each other.
The bed is king-size, so there’s plenty of space, but I still find myself edging closer to her.
She seems to do the same, and suddenly she’s so close I can feel her breath and Beardy’s fur rubbing against my stomach.
Our lips are a few centimetres apart, and I want to kiss her so badly.
I have a feeling that if I do, she wouldn’t turn me away, but she’s vulnerable after what happened with her parents, and she’s had more than half a bottle of wine, and whatever she drank at the party. I’m not about to take advantage of her.
If we ever kiss again or get back together, I want it to happen the right way, when we’re both in a clear state of mind.
I shift away from her a little, creating some distance. “Good night,” I tell her softly.
“Good night,” Cornelia whispers.
I turn onto my side, facing away from her. Being face-to-face with her all night is a temptation I’m not sure I can handle, and to make sure my willpower doesn’t waver later in the night, I push up the bear between us so that if I roll over, the only thing I end up kissing is the stuffed animal.